


Presence

by tastewithouttalent



Series: Moonlight [1]
Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Awkwardness, Confessions, Crushes, First Kiss, M/M, No Plot/Plotless, Running
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-29
Updated: 2014-05-29
Packaged: 2018-01-25 22:30:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1664903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tastewithouttalent/pseuds/tastewithouttalent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Kuroko's eyes are steady, though, fixed on Kagami’s face and lit up by the moonlight reflecting off the water behind the taller boy’s head." Kuroko and Kagami go for a run and some things are made clear.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Presence

Kagami is impressed.

There aren’t many people who can keep up with him physically, even if it’s just running, even if he’s going slower than usual and holding himself to a jog instead of a proper run. There are a few, of course, and especially at his current pace he’d expect most of the team, or at least the upperclassmen, to have no trouble. But Kuroko is unusually weak for a basketball player, struggles to keep up during the general training and gets winded far sooner than Kagami feels he should. Kagami’s used to the smaller boy lagging just at his heels, or breathing so hard they stop because Kagami’s afraid he’s going to pass out, but today he’s keeping pace, neck-and-neck with Kagami’s own longer stride and keeping a steady rhythm to his breathing, even if it is coming faster than it should be. He doesn’t stop early, either; Kagami has finished out his entire distance before they slow to a stop, and Kuroko is still right alongside him.

“Good work.” He reaches out to ruffle a hand through Kuroko’s hair. The other boy is panting now that they’ve stopped, his shirt and hair both soaked through with sweat, and the motion of Kagami’s fingers against the wet strands pulls them into messy spikes for a moment. Kagami follows the shape with his eyes without thinking as he goes on. “Have you been training on your own? You never could have done that a month ago.”

“I--I want to keep up with you,” Kuroko manages to gasp out. His shoulders are moving under his shirt with how hard he’s breathing; when Kagami lets his fingers slide down to brush against Kuroko’s forehead his skin is flushed, radiating heat in spite of the cool air. His eyes are steady, though, fixed on Kagami’s face and lit up by the moonlight reflecting off the water behind the taller boy’s head. With the darkness sapping color from their surroundings his eyes look silvery-white, pale and uncanny. “So I have to get stronger.”

He says it matter-of-factly, like he’s restating something Kagami should know already, and the monotone of his voice makes it sound faintly condescending like his words always do. But Kagami’s tired, or maybe it’s just that Kuroko’s speech patterns are so familiar that they don’t bother him anymore, so he doesn’t pull away, just keeps his hand where it is, fingertips against moonlight-pale hair and palm resting on Kuroko’s overheated cheek.

“You are,” Kagami says, and something in the words or in the back of his head, something he doesn’t intend and doesn’t see coming, slides his thumb down from its neutral position against Kuroko’s forehead, sideways across the other boy’s cheek and dragging friction in its wake.

They both go very still. Kagami freezes the movement of his thumb too late, after the too-affectionate contact has already undeniably occurred, hisses at the realization of what he’s done. And Kuroko...Kuroko’s eyes go even wider than they usually are, swallow up even more of the dim light until they look like they’re glowing, giving off illumination of their own. But he doesn’t move away, either, and for a few breathless inhales Kagami is trapped, unable to move forward and unwilling to move back.

Then Kuroko moves.

It’s a tiny motion, just an angle of his head away from Kagami’s hand, and by rights it should feel like a withdrawal. But Kuroko’s movements are efficient, have always been brutally efficient, and Kagami knows how to read them now. It isn’t a retreat; it’s an offer of the other boy’s jawline and neck for Kagami’s fingertips. The response is so automatic than Kagami doesn’t have to think about it. All he has to do it let it happen, let his hand slide down so his fingers stroke against Kuroko’s sweat-damp skin, and when he does Kuroko’s eyelids  _flutter_ , Kagami’s staring at the other boy’s night-white eyes and the motion is obvious. Less obvious is the stutter in his breath-- it’s almost lost under Kuroko catching his breath back from the run -- but it’s there too, even if it takes Kagami a moment longer to catch it.

“Kuroko --” he starts, though he’s not sure what he’s going to say and his voice is shaking harder than he thought it would be.

Kuroko’s hand comes up, too fast for Kagami to pull away even if he wanted to which he is pretty sure he doesn’t. His fingers close around the larger boy’s wrist, desperately tight even though Kagami’s not planning on pulling away, and when he says, “ _Kagami-kun_ ,” all the blood in the larger boy’s body flares instantly hot. He’s never heard Kuroko talk to him like that, has barely heard Kuroko talk that way  _ever_.

There’s a sound, part an exhale and part a groan, and Kagami only realizes it came from his own throat as he’s leaning in over the distance to Kuroko. He’s moving too fast to think, instinct and impulse overriding everything else in his brain, but he can feel Kuroko move with another one of those hyper-efficient movements, lift his chin and angle his head, and when Kagami’s mouth comes in Kuroko is ready for him, turns the collision into a kiss instead of a crush. Kuroko’s lips are still parted from catching his breath and it’s probably not intended as an invitation in itself, but Kagami takes the opening anyway, shifts his hand against Kuroko’s cheek so he’s holding the other boy’s head in place and can slide his tongue past Kuroko’s lips and into the heat of his mouth. Kuroko doesn’t fight at all; after a moment Kagami realizes he’s more than not fighting, he’s  _submitting_ , the most active encouragement the other boy can give. Kuroko’s going shaky under Kagami’s hold, starting to tremble even more than what the run is responsible for, opening his mouth wider and leaning in closer, tightening his grip on Kagami’s wrist past the point of comfort but still far shy of the other’s limit. It’s as active as Kagami has ever seen or felt Kuroko, the most  _present_ ; usually the other boy slides away from attention and out of memory almost without trying, like he was never quite there to begin with. Whatever it is he usually does to achieve that isn’t happening now; he’s warm, and solid, and  _very_  real.

It’s that thought that brings Kagami back to himself, at least a little, enough that he goes still and pulls back. Kuroko’s fingers go tighter on his wrist but the smaller boy doesn’t try to keep him where he is; he just blinks and gasps air and stares at Kagami’s face.

“I --” Kagami starts, feeling like some sort of apology is in order. But then his brain catches up with his flustered heartrate, points out that Kuroko is the one currently holding him in place, that the other boy is staying quiet but doesn’t look like he’s  _upset_  at all, that maybe he has nothing to apologize for after all. “Are you --”

“I’m fine,” Kuroko says quickly, before Kagami even has time to finish the question. “Are you okay?”

Kagami opens his mouth to insist that of course he’s okay, he’s fine, there’s no problem, but what come out instead is an oddly high-pitched whine. His heart is racing arrhythmic with adrenaline instead of exhaustion; it feels a little like Kuroko’s fingers on his wrist are the only thing keeping him in place. At least Kuroko looks calm. That helps, a little, although Kagami still feels himself flushing dark at the way his voice cracks when he finally says, “No, not at all.”

Kuroko blinks at him. His face is entirely, perfectly unreadable, and Kagami has never been more frustrated by that. “Do you not want to keep going?”

Kagami shuts his mouth hard on any response, although the effort turns his cheeks darker even than they were to begin with. He can’t trust himself not to blurt out too much in his haste to reassure Kuroko that  _yes_ , he wants to keep going, he’s not thought about a whole lot else other than basketball and Kuroko since they met, that Kuroko’s face and shoulders and skinny hips feature prominently in almost all of his fantasies now, that the only reason he hasn’t  _said_  anything was that he didn’t think the other boy was  _interested_.

“I want to,” Kuroko volunteers, just in time to contradict Kagami’s retrospective assumptions. “If you want to. Or even if you don’t want to. I still do.”

“How long?” Kagami manages to get out. It sounds more like a croak than a question, but it’s intelligible, at least.

Kuroko blinks at him. “Since the first day we met.” He sounds remarkably calm, for what he’s saying. Kagami kind of wants to shake the composure right out of him but refrains with what he feels is astonishing self-control. When he doesn’t answer Kuroko keeps going, still in that perfectly level voice. “Before I told you I’d be your shadow. Your potential as a player was an advantage but not the only reason.”

“Did you and Aomine --” Kagami asks before actively biting his tongue to stop the question. “No. I don’t want to know. It doesn’t matter, right?”

There is something at the corner of Kuroko’s mouth; on anyone else it would be a smile, but it’s so repressed Kagami barely sees it at all before it’s gone. But the expression lingers either in Kagami’s thoughts or in Kuroko’s throat, so even though all the other boy says is, “Right,” it sounds like he’s on the verge of laughter.

“Fuck,” Kagami says in lieu of a more coherent response. “You want to keep going.”

“Yes,” Kuroko says.

“You like me.”

“Yes.”

“And I --” The words stick in his throat; Kagami chokes on the sound, coughs around the confession he can’t get out, not with Kuroko  _looking_  at him so calmly.

“Kagami-kun.”

Kagami catches his breath, recenters his gaze on Kuroko’s face. Kuroko waits until the taller boy’s vision has cleared, waits until Kagami is starting to feel self-conscious about his hand still lingering against Kuroko’s shoulder, until he’s just opening his mouth to say “Yeah, what is it?”

Then Kuroko finally speaks, talking so softly that he should be drowned out by Kagami’s voice except that the other boy’s throat closes up again and cuts his words off so he can hear the other boy say softly but perfectly clearly, “Kiss me again.”

Kagami makes a sound back in his throat. It’s supposed to be a growl of irritation at how  _calm_  Kuroko sounds, at how totally level the other boy’s gaze is, but it comes out twisted around into a groan, and he’s leaning forward in spite of his intended protest so Kuroko has no chance to respond before Kagami’s mouth crushes against his again. There’s another flicker of a smile; Kagami can feel it, this time, the curve pulling against Kuroko’s mouth against his, and then Kuroko lets his hold go in favor of sliding his fingers against the back of Kagami’s neck and parts his lips, and whatever attention Kagami had for Kuroko’s expression is lost in the flare of heat through his blood and the warmth of Kuroko’s mouth and fingers and skin against his.


End file.
